Saints and sinners the d.., p.21
Saints & Sinners: The Devlin Saint Trilogy, page 21
He goes on to tell me that The Wolf and Peter had met when they were young and Peter rose up in the organization. “I think he wanted to get out. That’s part of why he moved to LC. He was supposed to be helping his brother-in-law with his kid. That was you, I guess?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he wanted to just be a guy, right? Just do that construction and management shit. The way I heard it, Danny let him out. They was friends, right? But without his cut, your uncle couldn’t hack it. Didn’t want to give up his big, fancy house. So he got back in with The Wolf, but then did some side business, too. Wanted a bigger percentage for him, right?”
“The Wolf found out.” The words are flat. I’m numb.
“Smart girl. Found out and decided it was time to terminate their friendship.” He chuckles, and I cringe.
“Do you know who did it?”
“Not a clue,” Cornwell says, though I don’t know if I believe him. “I know he brought it on himself,” Cornwell says. “Was a stupid shit to be playing games like that especially with Danny’s son living right under his nose.”
I shiver, as if I’d stepped into a room full of ghosts. “What do you mean?”
“The Wolf had a kid. Alejandro. I swear, that boy was Danny’s only soft spot, only he wasn’t soft at all. Trained him like a soldier. Took the kid from his mom. That’s the part that got to me. I love my mom, you know. And I got a kid, too. Point is, Peter mighta got away with it if it weren’t for the kid. But The Wolf was paying attention, ya know?”
“What—what happened to his son? After Peter died?”
“Hell if I know. The Wolf pulled him out, I assume. I didn’t keep track. All I know is some government prick assassinated The Wolf. Not much long after.”
“I didn’t know The Wolf’s killer had ever been identified.”
I can hear the shrug in his voice when he says, “I hear rumors. Anyway, guess the kid inherited what the government couldn’t claim. Figure he’s either some wastrel party-boy now or he’s got a new life running daddy’s business outta Mexico or God knows where.”
“I—thank you, Mr. Cornwell.” My entire body is cold, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “This—this has been more informative than I expected.” I have to choke out the words.
“Hey, sure thing. Sorry about your uncle, girlie. He fucked up, but guess that don’t much matter to you.”
“No. Not much.” I go through the niceties of ending the call, not aware of my words. Not even aware of what I’m doing until I realize that my bag is packed and I’m heading for the door.
He’s the Wolf’s son.
Alejandro. Alex. The boy taken from his mother. Sent to work with Peter.
Alex Leto—Devlin Saint—is the goddamn Wolf’s son.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The day passes in a blur.
As soon as I realized the truth about Devlin, Alex, whoever the fuck he was, I’d bolted from The Phoenix, grabbed a taxi, and gone immediately to one of the car rental places by the airport.
I could have flown, but I’d needed the release that comes from speed and the highway and the asphalt beneath my tires. I’d pushed the limits of my rented Toyota, and the only reason I didn’t land a dozen speeding tickets is because the gods were on my side.
I arrive in Orange County as the sun is slipping toward the horizon. I punch in the code to unlock the door and disarm the alarm, then stumble into Brandy’s house. As I do, she leaps off the couch, races to me, and pulls me into her arms as Christopher stands behind her managing to look both worried and relieved.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling. Devlin’s going crazy. He’s called a dozen times and been here twice.”
My eyes snapped to hers. “He’s been here?”
“He flew back. He said you two had a fight and you bolted. Christ, Ellie, what the hell? I’ve been calling you since he phoned from Vegas. Said he got back to your room and you’d cleared out.”
“We had a fight,” I say numbly, latching on to his excuse.
“About what?” She steps aside as I barrel toward the kitchen, then pour myself a glass of wine.
I run my fingers through my hair, shrug, then look at Christopher. I don’t know where to start, and even though I want to skewer Devlin Saint right now, I don’t want to air his dirty laundry in front of a stranger. “I just want to sleep. Can we do this—”
“I should go,” Christopher says, cutting me off. He goes to Brandy and takes her hand. “You two should talk.”
She nods, because apparently no one is listening to me. I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep. I want to forget.
But I get that Brandy’s legit worried, so I offer Christopher a wan smile, then go curl up on the couch as she sees him to the door before coming to sit by me.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She takes my hands. “But I’ve been out of my mind.”
“I’m sorry. Really. I turned off my phone. It never occurred to me he’d call you. I just had to go. So I rented a car.” I lift my shoulder and, to her credit, Brandy doesn’t ask why I didn’t just fly back if I was bolting from Vegas. She knows damn well I would have wanted the speed. That I needed to burn through whatever emotions have been jumbled up inside me.
I did, too. Before, I’d been in knots, such an emotional mess it’s a wonder the guy at the counter was willing to hand me the keys. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, I know that. But the speed and the power and the freedom had worked their magic, and by the time I was well out of the city and in a place where I could open her up, I was fine. Moving fast, but fine.
“So Christopher came, huh? Getting serious?”
“You are not diverting this. Go to bed or talk to me. Those are your choices. I’ve been so damn worried, and Devlin’s freaking out.”
“Good.” I snap. Freaking out that I know the truth about him. That he kept this huge, dangerous secret from me for years and years. When he was Alex. Now that he’s Devlin. About himself. And about my uncle, too.
“He’s a goddamn liar,” I add as warm tears stream down my cheeks.
She pulls me close and lets me cry. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I nod, but what I say is, “I can’t.” And, damn me, I hate myself for that. I shouldn’t care about his secrets. Not when he’s the heir to The Wolf’s fortune—most of which the government was never able to attach because the Wolf was never convicted of any major crime.
Not when—oh, God, why didn’t I think of this on the drive—the entire of his fortune, including the DSF, was built on blood money. And who knows what kind of things he’s still running behind the scenes, using a philanthropical agency as a cover for a criminal enterprise.
My stomach roils as I think about Ronan and my suspicions. Lorenzo Bell. Was that a hit? Had Bell somehow double-crossed Saint’s organization?
“Tell me,” Brandy says, the worry clear in her voice. “Whatever you’re thinking, just tell me. And if you won’t tell me, then at least talk to Devlin. Seriously, the guy looks as wrecked as you.”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “What did he say to you?”
“He said that you learned some stuff about him, and that he needed to talk to you. To explain.”
I nod. I’d left him a note before I left. I probably shouldn’t have. I should have just gone. He’d probably still be assuming I was in Vegas somewhere, losing money at a roulette table. Instead, I’d scribbled I know who you are on a piece of hotel stationery and left it on the table.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“He said he wasn’t sure how much of what you heard was true, but that part of it is, and he’s sorry he hurt you.”
I swallow. “He says some of it’s true? Did he tell you what?”
She laughs. “He didn’t tell me shit other than that he’s worried about you. Seriously, Ellie, the guy’s ripped up.”
“Good. What else did he say?”
“That he didn’t want you to find out that way—Ellie, what way? And what did you find out in the first place?”
That way? Did he mean from someone other than him? Or did he mean by talking to a prisoner, which would mean he’d been watching my every move. I pull my knees up and hug myself. “He didn’t want me to find out at all,” I say
“Yeah, he said that, too.”
I’d been looking at my toes, but now I look up at her. “He did?”
She nods. “But since you did, he says the way you found out was really bad. He says that he should have been the one who told you.”
I scoff. “Bullshit. He’s just pissed I learned the truth at all.”
She puts a hand on my knee and squeezes lightly. “He also said that you could tell me everything. Because he knows you need someone to talk to.”
“What?” I must have heard her wrong.
“He said he knows you, and you probably haven’t told me a thing. But that you can. You didn’t tell him that I know he’s Alex?”
I shake my head, irritated. Like I need his permission? Please. He should be grateful I’m not telling the whole damn world, much less Brandy.
I stand up, then take a step toward my satchel. It would be so easy. Just pull out my laptop, open up Twitter, and post from my official account at The Spall.
But I can’t seem to take that first step.
“Ellie, please.”
But I can’t, and when the tears start flowing, she puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close until exhaustion wins and I slip away into the refuge of darkness and dreams.
When I wake, it’s the middle of the night. I’m still on the couch, but Brandy’s covered me with the afghan, and Jake is snuggled up close. I stay still for a moment, relishing the feel of his furry warmth, then sit up, holding the afghan around my shoulders like a cape as I take deep breaths and lightly pat the tender, tear-ravaged skin beneath my eyes.
I stand, intending to go to my bedroom. Instead, I find myself in Shelby. I fire up the engine, then pull out of the garage to the end of the driveway. I send Brandy a quick text to let her know I’ve gone out driving. I doubt she’ll wake before morning, and by then I’ll be back. But just in case, I want her to know. I’m coherent enough to know that it matters, so I guess that’s a good thing.
My rental is still parked on the street, and I vaguely think that I need to return it. But mostly, I don’t think at all.
Mostly, I just need to drive. I need the wind in my hair. The noise and the rush either bringing me back to life or whisking all the dark thoughts from my head. I don’t want to want him. I don’t want to think. And the only way I know how to free myself is to lose myself in speed and the hills and these tight, winding turns.
I go slow until I’m out of the neighborhood, then I head to Sunset Canyon Road and take it away from town, to the turnoffs that lead into the foothills and the wild and winding unpopulated roads that go up and up until you’re high enough to touch the sky or go flying out over the hills toward the sparkling waters of the Pacific.
Mindlessly, I navigate the curves, my hand on the gearshift, my foot working the clutch. I whip around hairpin turns, fly along winding curves, and push Shelby harder and harder until my body and my car are one and it’s me who has the power, me who’s flying, me who’s cheating death and pain and loss and I’m fucking winning, dammit. I. Am. Winning.
Fuck.
With the curse screaming in my brain, I hit the brakes and skid to a stop in a turnabout. I’m breathing hard, and I should be free now. I should have sloughed it off, this feeling that I have to push and push and break through if I’m ever going to feel again.
But I’m not. I’m not even close. I’m not winning at all, and I could drive all night and it would still be a lie.
Because these hills aren’t where I need to be.
This isn’t the danger I crave.
I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, because I know what I have to do.
I have to go see Devlin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I park Shelby in front of his house, somewhat amazed that I’d been able to find it again. I’ve only been the one time when I dropped him off after the Terrance Myers press conference.
It was dark then, too. But not this late.
I glance down at the dashboard clock and realize that it’s three in the morning.
Well, hell.
I sit for a moment, debating whether I should go pound on his door or wait until morning. I’m about to drive away when his front door opens, and there he is, silhouetted by the light in his entrance hall.
I hesitate, knowing I should be afraid. I know his secret now, and it’s a dangerous one.
But that’s why I came here, isn’t it? That was the fuel that had pushed me.
I draw in a breath, then get out of the car. I walk slowly toward him, my gaze never leaving him as I try hard to interpret those damnable, stoic features. But I can’t read a thing on his face.
“Text Brandy,” he says. “Tell her you’re here.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because when you come in, I’m shutting the door behind you. And I want you to know that you’re safe.”
I nod, then take out my phone, shoot her a text, then meet his eyes. “Okay?”
He nods, but I think I see disappointment on his face. And, damn me, right away I regret sending the text. Because, foolish or not, I don’t actually think he’d hurt me. I came here expecting danger, but not the physical kind.
No, the danger I’m confronting is the kind that gets you in the heart.
I’m numb enough that I don’t pay attention to the house as I follow him to a large, open living area. The television is on one of the classic movie stations, and there’s a black and white movie playing, the sound muted. There’s a coffee table in front of a sofa. An ice bucket and a half-empty decanter of whiskey sits next to a glass with a melting ice cube and just a hint of lingering brown liquor.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Damn right,” he says. “Want one?”
I nod, then sit on the couch. There’s a throw pillow, and I tug it into my lap as I curl my feet up under me.
He comes back from the bar on the far side of the room with a glass. He drops a cube in, pours a healthy shot, then hands it to me before refilling his own.
“To secrets,” he says, and, dammit, I laugh.
“Don’t,” I say, irritated with both of us. “Don’t make light of this.”
“I’m not. I swear.” He reaches for me, and I shrink back, and as I do, his face goes hard.
“Tell me,” he says. “What you know. Who you talked to.”
I consider arguing, but that’s why I’m here, right? For the confrontation? “I’m not revealing my sources,” I say. “Not even to you. But he told me that The Wolf had a son who went to work for Peter. That might not have been enough,” I continue when he says nothing. “I mean, Peter had people working for him all over town. But I also knew about Caitlyn Devline. And, well, I put the pieces together.”
I take a long swallow of my drink. “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re Daniel Lopez’s son. The Wolf.”
He cups his face in his hands, obscuring most of his beard. His eyes are closed, and he nods. “This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out.”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “The way? You didn’t want me to find out at all.”
His short laugh has the ring of irony. “Well, that’s true.” He draws a breath. “How the hell do you know about my mother?”
“Turns out I saw her. You, too. I was three. And Peter went to a house in the Hollywood Hills. She answered the door.”
“What else do you know?”
“That your father took you from her.” I look at him. “Do you remember that?”
He shakes his head. “I learned about it later. And that he killed her. Drugged her. Got her behind the wheel of a car. Made it look like an accident.”
I sit shocked. I had no idea about that.
He rubs his temples. “She was rich. Fell out with her parents before she met Daniel Lopez. Ran away, got caught up in his net. He fell for her, so maybe that made her lucky. Maybe it didn’t. And she had me. Ran when I was about a year old. Went back to her parents.”
“Your grandparents?”
“Dead now. Another accident. Right after my father took me to Nevada. I can’t prove it, but I’d lay a solid bet my father arranged that. Punishment for keeping him away from her money.”
His smile is thin. Murderous. “Their fortune—and it was massive—was managed through trusts. Ultimately, my mother’s and my grandparents’ assets ended up in the trust they set up for me when she brought me back to LA. It was rock solid. Still is. My bastard of a father tried to break it, but never managed.”
He shrugs. “That’s the money I live on now. Clean money built up through generations of hard work and solid investments.”
“And your father’s money? My, um, source says you inherited it. He says you’re running your own syndicate now.”
He almost laughs. “Does he? Well, he’s wrong, if that makes you feel any better. I shut my father’s business down the moment I inherited, and I did everything I could to shut down the networks and pipelines he used and to get his lieutenants on the government’s radar.”
He draws a breath, his expression hard. “I’m not my father, and woe be to anyone who suggests that I am. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to escape from that man’s shadows, to make up for just a portion of the bile he pumped into the world.”
He tosses back the rest of his drink, then slams the glass onto the coffee table before standing up. “So no. I don’t have my own syndicate. Unless you want to call the Devlin Saint Foundation a syndicate, because that is the only thing my father’s money has ever, ever been spent on. But the purpose of the DSF is to help people. To try to sweep up some of the shit my father spread through this world. Fuck.”
He lashes out and kicks the table. I make a grab for the decanter, steadying it before it topples onto the floor.
“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry.” He stalks across the room to the glass doors that open onto the canyon, the lights from dozens of streetlights flickering below, the twinkle of stars shining above. I can see his reflection, and I watch his face as he says, “I’m not the man you knew, Ellie. Back then, I thought I could completely avoid the path I was born to walk. I was wrong.”
